


Everything else is a substitute for your love

by MegMcwrites



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-07-29 12:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20082544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegMcwrites/pseuds/MegMcwrites
Summary: After their fight in St James park, Crowley comes to apologize to Aziraphale, explain his plan and ask for his help. Instead he ends up confessing his love, feeling rejected, and going on the run.





	1. Coward

**Author's Note:**

> So the simple idea that started this has expanded a bit, and it will be longer than I originally planned! Woohoo!  
Title from Fall out boy's Heavens Gate.

Crowley keeps slipping through his fingers like oil. Every time he almost gets a fix on him, sees a familiar flash of red hair, swirl of dark clothes, feels the electric static of Crowley’s being, the demon flees. It takes months for Aziraphale to pinpoint him again. Focusing on the occult beings essence and scanning in wider and wider circles, often having to leave the earthly plane while searching. He knows that he shouldn’t (He also recognizes that he probably shouldn’t even be able to do this. That he shouldn’t be able to find Crowley’s essence out in the world. But he doesn’t look too closely at That.), Crowley has made it blastedly clear he wants space, but it’s been ten years and enough is enough. The bloody coward. If he would just stand and face him, if they could just talk.. Aziraphale joins his corporeal form once again and slumps heavily against his desk, exhausted. 

His mind wanders unchecked, flashes of a memory so vivid he can taste the demons mouth on his own, desperate and crushing, too much teeth, his own cheeks wet from the others tears, his hands full of lithe body, spread across Crowley’s muscular back. His own lips responding his heart quickening and the feeling of Crowley’s body pressed firmly against his own for a few desperate seconds before Aziraphale had realized, before his brain caught up to his heart and he had shoved the demon away. Crowley had stumbled at the abrupt distance and actually fallen, sprawled across the floor shocked and a bit dazed, staring up, “Angel?” his voice rasped, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

The confession Crowley had made moments ago careening around Aziraphale's skull like a wild cannonball, destroying every capable brain cell left to him. He wanted to lunge at Crowley and pin him to the floor right here in the middle of the bookshop and see just what it would feel like to finally, finally give into his own desires. He wanted to scream at Crowley to make him understand what he was risking, that he was risking himself, that he would be obliterated if Hell found out. He settled somewhere closer to the second. 

“What on earth, were you  thinking ??” He glared down at Crowley, who was still sprawled on the floor “What if someone had been paying attention?!” 

Crowley’s hooded eyes jerked up, a sliver of hope far too clear in his amber eyes, he heard the distinction, he wasn’t being rejected outright. He scrambled to his feet, his arms reaching, touching any part of the angel he could, settling his hands on Aziraphale's folded forearms stroking circles with his thumbs, trying to reassure his angel. 

“I don’t care, Angel, this isn’t.. I’m not," he looks down, fighting the urge to stop talking and walk out. "I'm not... _Fraternizing_ with you... I love you. Have done for centuries and I’m pretty sure you love me too.” He glances up from his hands on the angels arms and stilled his thumbs searching the others face for some clue, some hint he's not wrong. Aziraphale raised his chin infinitesimally, trying to steel his eyes against Crowley’s stare, and knowing he was failing. He couldn’t lie, not to Crowley, not about something like this, so he sidestepped instead.

“Crowley they would Destroy you !” Unfolding his arms and grabbing the others forearms for emphasis. “They wouldn’t just stick you in some pit for a thousand years, they would tear you apart piece by piece before ending you completely.” He steadied himself gripping his friends arms tighter. ‘What would this world be for me without you?’ He wanted to say it, but his coward tongue stayed still. 

“You aren’t saying no...” Crowley smiled, wide, hopeful. 

Aziraphale huffed and drew away, his arms cold where the others fingers had been, turning his back on his friend. Crowley pushed back into his space, circling him, always orbiting him. 

“I have a plan” he whispered, leaning his forehead against the angels shoulder, hands ghosting around his middle to hold him so softly, barely there. Aziraphale closed his eyes and fought the desire to lean into him. “The holy water..”

"I won't give you a suicide pill, Crowley!"  
"That's not what I want it for, Angel. I have a plan, I..." Aziraphale cuts him off before he can explain.

“Are you going to fight all of heaven and hell?” 

“I would... for you”

Aziraphale jerked, surprised and Crowley pulled away, orbiting again. 

“I would” He stated it as a challenge, looking at Aziraphale, eyes full yellow, seeming to chant ‘say it back, say it back, leap with me’. 

“You can’t say things like that!” Aziraphale paled, pulling back and glancing to the ceiling(Glancing up to heaven. Trying to see if anyone was listening.). “You.. you don’t mean that. I can’t go against heaven! Crowley I’ll...” 

Fall... and then where will that leave us? I can’t protect you then... the silence mocks him. 

Crowley suddenly found the box of chocolates (It had taken Crowley 2 hours after their encounter in St James park to work up the nerve to buy the chocolates, an apology. It had taken him a week to bring them to Aziraphale.) on the angels desk extraordinarily interesting, he sighed and pressed his hands against his eyes “right..” 

Crowley’s eyes rake over Aziraphale, he can almost feel the heat of them on his body, starting at his shoes taking in every millimeter of his corporeal form, staring past it into the ether and taking in that as well. Fixing every detail firmly in his memory, holding the others gaze and watching those eyes of every color, swirled blue, green, and brown. Crowley nods and takes long steps towards the angel closing the space between them, and Aziraphale steps back once hesitantly. Crowley pauses and then slowly raises his hand in the inches between them fixing the angels bow tie, straitening it and pressing the end back flat. His fingers delicately trail a line from the tie up his throat to gently, gently cup his cheek.Aziraphale's eyes flutter shut and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. The touch vanished and when he opened his eyes he was alone. 

Aziraphale opened his eyes, memory receding, his cheeks damp with his own tears this time, starring down at his empty fingers. Crowley wasn’t the coward... he was. 


	2. Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Crowley leaves Aziraphale in the bookshop he has a bit of an emotional breakdown, and then his night gets a bit worse.

Crowley stumbled and fell heavily against the back-alley wall of the bookshop, barely throwing his hand up in time to catch himself. He hadn’t managed to materialize far from Aziraphale, not this worked up, which only added to his dismay.

He dropped his head back against the rough brick wall with a painful thunk and slumped down to the cold, slightly damp, earth. He lifted his head and dropped it back against the wall again, _**thunk**_, and again, _**thunk**_, and again, _**thunk**_.

“Stupid”, _**thunk**_, “blessed”,_** thunk**_, “idiot”, _**thunk**_, he hissed at himself while hitting his head against the wall repeatedly. With a groan he squeezed his eyes shut and pulled at his hair, rubbing the back of his head.

He needed to go. What if Aziraphale came looking for him and found him wallowing five feet outside the back door? Crowley scoffed at himself, Aziraphale wouldn’t come looking for him. The angel was probably already tucked up in his overstuffed armchair with the thickest book he owned completely forgetting all about the _demon_ he had been simply _fraternizing_ with.

A sob choked out of Crowley without his permission. _Fraternizing_??? How was this… all of this, just… fraternizing?

Aziraphale hadn’t even been willing to listen to his plan! After centuries of being alone, together, on earth; Crowley had whole heartedly chosen Aziraphale. How could Aziraphale still be choosing heaven, with their cold indifference, over…

Crowley dropped his head against the wall again pulling harder at his hair.

Over what? The Arrangement? Crowley? The reckless idea of ‘their side’?

Of course, _of course_ Aziraphale was choosing heaven; Aziraphale was constantly reminding him that they were hereditary enemies, Crowley had just never really believed the angel meant it. But Crowley was a _demon_. A _foolish demon_ who had dared hope for too much, a _demon_ who had just shown his hand after only trying to hide how deep his feelings ran for practically as long as he had known the angel. Crowley was a demon who had just had his heart torn from his sleeve.

For a beautiful shining moment Crowley thought he had been right to hope, the look in his angel’s eyes… there had been fear there, yes, but something more. Something resembling Crowley’s own hope reflected back in those beautiful eyes.

The way Aziraphale had responded to the kiss, just before he had pushed Crowley away… Aziraphale had kissed him _back_.

Crowley touched his lips with trembling fingers, he could still taste his angel.

Crowley blinked hard and pushed his fingers firm against his mouth. No, not his angel, never will be, never has been. Another sob clawed its way out of Crowley’s throat. Crowley bit his fist trying to choke off the pathetic sound.

‘Enough’, he thought to himself, ‘move’. He needed to go; he was endangering Aziraphale every minute he sat sprawled against the bookshop wallowing in the shattered remains of his own foolish heart. Hell would be contacting him again soon; he couldn’t be found here when they did.

“Pull yourself together” he croaked softly, “its time to go.”

Crowley slid back up the wall, bracing one hand against the familiar bricks and running his other hand through his hair trying to tame it back in place. He reached for his top hat, his final piece of emotional armor, but his hand fell through empty space to the dirt beneath his feet.

His hat, it had been left inside, forgotten where it fell when Aziraphale pushed him away.

Crowley pressed his fingers together ready to snap the hat back into his possession and paused, what if Aziraphale noticed it had been left behind? What if he noticed the hat suddenly missing? Crowley sighed heavily letting his hand drop, he pushed his glasses securely against the bridge of his nose and smoothed his mutton chops against his face, nothing to do about it now.

He gave one last glance to the bookshop, the shades in the windows had been pulled down, only a faint light glimmered around their edges. Crowley’s eyes dropped along with his heart and he walked into the chill of the night, away from the warmth of the bookshop, and the warmth of Aziraphale.

* * * * * *

Crowley sways down another back alley (a far cry from his normal confident saunter but he’s trying), he doesn’t have a destination in mind just generally away from Soho.

What he is trying to do, as he walks down the ill lit back streets of London, is come up with a new plan. Or a step one to his original plan since _someone_ won’t help him acquire holy water.

He is also desperately trying to ignore his aching heart, that by all rights shouldn’t be aching.

As he has been so recently reminded, he is a demon, a first-class demon if he may say so himself, and therefore his heart shouldn’t be capable of this crippling and useless feeling. Whoever decided it was a good idea that this top rate demon could have the emotional capacity to lo.. to hurt… well he would like to say a few choice words to them (to her).

The problem was, that someone in hell had caught on to Crowley. What exactly they had caught on to he had no idea. He feared that somehow his time spent with an angel had been noticed and if he was right, he didn’t know how he was going to explain it away.Even if he could come up with an explanation that didn’t mark him as an outright traitor, they would certainly punish Crowley, and not just with a nastily worded note.

He half entertained the idea that a few decades in the pits of hell may be a good excuse to avoid Aziraphale, but he abandoned it quickly.

Crowley turned again, barely paying attention to his surroundings. He tries to think what else could possibly have Hell send him a message “to be ready”. It wasn’t Hell's style; they didn’t warn you. Crowley ran his hand through his hair making it stick up at odd angles once again.

He was on his own, he thought. The walls of the alley felt imposingly close. For the first time in a very long time he was really on his own. Hell is catching onto him, and he, absolute fool that he is, just effectively pushed away the only being in this whole blessed universe he could trust because he couldn’t keep his damned lips to himself!

His chest felt tight, his traitorous heart beating far too fast to be good for his corporeal form. He kept playing the scene over in his head, the fear in Aziraphale’s eyes when Crowley had said "love", the softness of the angel’s lips against his own. His cruel optimistic mind carefully trying to focus on the way the angel had kissed back.

“Hhhngk, Stop It!”

He hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but hearing his own voice helped to bring him back to the narrow alley, and out of the memory of the bookshop.

He took the next right, the buildings were farther apart here, it helped Crowley breathe easier. Yes, a little open air would help him think. He didn’t want to go lurk around St James, it never felt right to go there without Aziraphale anyhow, and since their fight… Crowley shook his head and decided that the river was a much safer choice.

If Aziraphale wouldn’t help him get holy water, he would have to find a way to get his hands on some himself. First though he needed to find out_ who_ in Hell knew _what_, and how to keep his fellow demons off his back while he did.

The vague taste of sulfur on his tongue was the only warning Crowley had before the ground started shifting in front of his feet.

With a startled hiss Crowley quickly stepped back just as a squat, scaled demon popped out of the ground.

The messenger demon fussed with its sash, brushing dirt off its badge and stamping its short staff on the ground grumbling under its breath all the while.

Crowley attempts to calm his panicked nerves, it’s just a messenger. He still has time to come up with something, this wasn’t an ambush.

Crowley tries to wait patiently, but the smaller demon seems much less concerned about getting around to its task than the state of the shiny messenger badge pinned to its slightly large sash. Must be new, Crowley thinks and then clears his throat hoping to catch the newcomer’s attention. The messenger demon stamps his staff twice more against the ground shaking off some more dirt.

“Aaah… Hello?” Crowley says and waves a hand in front of the demons’ face.

The messengers head snaps to Crowley and its eyes narrow into a glare as it waddles around to face him.

“Demon Crowley,” it says, in an unsettling deep voice for something two feet tall and shaped rather like a ball.

“Yeah, yes, found me.” The messengers glare intensifies and Crowley arches one eyebrow up in amused surprise.

“Hastur, Duke of Hell, has sent a message for you, Demon Crowley.”

Hastur? Well there is the who question answered at least. All pretense of patience gone; he holds out his hand for whatever blessed message the Duke of hell could have for him. The messenger demon looks sharply at Crowley’s outstretched hand and whacks him across the knuckles with its’ staff.

“Ouch! You little…” Crowley snarls before being interrupted by the nonplussed messenger

“Hastur, Duke of Hell, is awaiting you in the cemetery.” Crowley is still shaking his injured hand as the news processes and he freezes, hand mid shake in the air.

“What? _Now??_”

“Now, Demon Crowley.”

“Right”

“Don’t keep him waiting, Demon Crowley”

“Course...”

“All hail Satan”

“Mm-yeah, all hail...” Crowley started but the messenger demon, with his dirty staff and shiny badge, was burrowing back into the earth.

Crowley rubbed his stinging knuckles cursing the message, the messenger, and the Duke of hell himself. He grimaced at the traces of sulfur still on his tongue and turned in the direction of the cemetery.

Time to think fast, how much worse was this night about to get?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long to update! School kicked my butt the last two months, but I should be updating more regularly now! Thank you for being patient!!


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